


This Side Of Paradise.

by duaa



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Heavily inspired by this side of paradise ngl, M/M, honestly this is just to prove to myself that i can commit to things, i tried to write it like im some 1920s writer do with that what you will, well not really but yes really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24216235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duaa/pseuds/duaa
Summary: Thomas Croft, a stone-cold widower with three sons.Logan Croft, falling in love with Virgil Shea.Roman Croft, Thomas' treasured son.Remus Croft, declared deranged and 'locked up' inside all day.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	This Side Of Paradise.

The Croft House was almost always stagnant, static. The inhabitants of the house were equally divided as the whole world is: those who do, and those who watch. Thomas Croft, a successful widower with millions to his name, and his oldest son, Logan Croft watched the world spin by. They sat back on their thrones of luxury and peered at the world through the most critical of glasses. Thomas Croft had arrived at West Egg a few long months prior to the untimely death of his wife, cradling a small bundle of silence. Logan Croft had received best of education from an early age, undeviating. When his younger siblings (twins, they said, brought luck) fought over objects, Logan Croft surveyed them, head held high, chin jutting forward. He was by no means a doer, Thomas Croft had realised. His other sons, however, Roman and Remus Croft, did all but watch. Mrs. Croft passed away three lovely years after giving birth to her twins, raising them just barely. Thomas Croft, engrossed in his work and his grief, paid little attention to his sons whilst they grew, sending them abroad to a boarding school in a flash. There were whispers on the street that Thomas had killed his wife, leaving but three young witnesses who were unmercifully chucked further away from Thomas and his increasing fame. Once a good fifteen or so years had passed, the Croft brothers were brought back to West Egg to their unmoving father. Declaring them fit for any challenges life threw at them (for Crofts never got things easy), he had them stay with him at the Croft House, now more than willing to spend time with his matured sons. Of course, as is the nature of doers, Roman and Remus were never at home, leaving Croft House a shell, encasing only the cold Thomas and the brilliant Logan. Remus Croft was unnerving, to say the least, and Thomas Croft quite disliked him. He had confided as such to many people, who took his word to heart. Soon enough, Thomas Croft was a poor widower with a deranged son. Remus Croft soon had to be confined to the Croft House to avoid tarnishing Thomas Croft's reputation (although Remus' existence did nothing but make Thomas more likeable). Roman Croft, on the other hand, was like a sun, too bright, burning out almost never. Thomas Croft cherished his son, but only in moderate quantities, which was why Roman Croft made himself scarce whenever he could, eager to please his father. 

Yet, today, the Croft House was bustling with excitement and people, servants, cooks and butlers alike buzzing in and out. The heavy, ornate gates to their mansion lay open, allowing free access to whomsoever dared to peek in before the time was ripe. As usual, Roman Croft was out and about, gone to enjoy the fruits of a life his father provided and so was his twin. Remus Croft went out and about as well, the only difference being where he went to do what. A mystery not yet solved by Thomas, Remus' absence was known to him always a smidge too late, when the man had slipped inside his room. Logan Croft, on the other hand, thought nothing of his father's personal wishes. It just so happened that Logan was capable of taking care of himself, leaving Thomas satisfied enough to never order him around. Had he done so, he would have received quite the shock. Logan did what he wanted and when he wanted, caring less for his father or brothers' wishes. While Logan got dressed and ready, his butler rang up on his doorstep, claiming that his father had sent for him. 

"Logan, my dearest Logan - I have invited a particular Mr. Hart tonight (you know Mr. Hart, don't you? Yes, attaboy!) and his son. I would like for you to meet him and -" He paused, picking at his hand "- think about your future alongside him." Logan startled, gasping. 

"Father, you don't mean to say -?" 

"My dearest Logan, the choice is first mine and then yours. Now, listen here, there's a nephew of a Mr. Shea coming in tonight, make sure Roman meets him and does the same." Returning to his phonebook, Thomas Croft coldly dismissed his son, unwavering. He couldn't believe it, he was barely ready to do any such thing! For the first time in his life, Logan Croft felt extreme discomfort standing by his father, by the man who shook Logan's life and set it aside. Logan paced around the grand staircase, desperately waiting for Roman to arrive. 

"Logan, please do not worry yourself so!" His father exclaimed after a quarter of an hour passed away. "You must get ready at once!" 

"But Father, Roman -" 

His father set a heavy hand on his shoulder, his expression one of barely concealed annoyance. His weary eyes seemed more and more beady, the more Logan stared into their depths. "Go on then, Logan, attaboy!" He trudged along the staircase, slamming the door to his room with an insolent thud. He threw himself upon his bed, sighing with utmost dread. His father was far too controlling for Logan's tastes, he wished he could go back to Oxford and his mates there. The weather was not only dreadful here, it rendered him immobilised in his house, feeling much like Remus should be feeling. He never truly thought of his father, keeping that a subject far from his mind - yet now, he realised that he had been foolish to not do so. Thomas Croft was a cold man with secrets Logan did not know of, and never would want to. It did seem peculiar now, it did, that he sent his children away for so long. What had Thomas Croft gotten up to then? Fixing and betrothing his sons away? 

He stayed like that for quite some time, hearing guests pour in. Only when he heard his father roar 'Roman! There you are!' did he get up, fixing his ruffled vest. Flouncing down the stairs, his father caught his arm, gripping him like he had before. He wrenched his arm free, feeling rather embarrassed. They were in company and yet his father treated him like a petulant child, manhandling him so. Roman strode up to their little huddle, stealing away everyone's curious gaze. He slung an arm round Logan, ready to launch into a narrative when his father gripped Roman's arm. He pointed out the Shea boy and Jr. Hart, before stringing Roman along. Logan slumped down the stairs, aware of how everyone's eyes followed him. Their father insisted that there be light only from chandeliers which Logan supposed helped to hide his flushed face. People were squinting here and there, trying to make out their comrades before turning away. He found the gaggle surrounding Jr. Hart with ease, waiting politely as the crowd dispersed. 

"Mr. Hart, I presume?" The shorter man had fair, golden curls resting atop his head, pearls glinting in the scanty light. He shook Logan's hand with as much force a petit child would have, smiling ever so pleasantly at him. "Logan Croft, pleased to meet you."

"As you, Mr. Croft!"

"Please, call me Logan, I insist!" The other man covered his mouth, shaking his head fervently. "I insist!" Logan repeated. He reminded Logan of the English girls everyone was so fond of, giggling mindlessly and frolicking around.

"I could never!" Logan laughed him off, finding this game a little too tedious for him. He had no time to engage in petty conversations made only in the name of effortless flattery. "I have full faith in you." He finished, unwilling to carry this on for any longer. Hart simply smiled, peering up at him with blue eyes through his long lashes. Logan observed him not unlike how he would observe a painting by a child, detached yet appreciative. Patton Hart had a slender body, sleek wrists and delicate ankles. His heart shaped face irritated Logan, grating on his nerves. 

"Are you enjoying yourself so far?" Patton nodded, hair swinging wildly. 

"I'm told you're an Oxford man!" He exclaimed, moving in closer. 

"I am. And yourself -?"

"Oh, I never went to college!" He laughed, unabashed as horror clawed its way through Logan's stomach. How could Father ever, ever imagine Logan would want to stay with this man? His mood soured more than it had before, a feat he hadn't known was possible, as Roman caught his eye. Waving him over, he ignored whatever drivel Hart was spewing, instead handing him off to Roman. Roman bowed, making Hart giggle. Logan diverted his attention to locating Shea, hoping and praying that he wasn't anything like Hart. Roman crowed something about 'sweet sweet Patton' and Logan deemed them fit for each other. The orchestra played a solemn song, something Logan hadn't heard of before but thought it befitting. 'The choice is first mine and then yours' rang through his ears as he stumbled to the cocktail bar. Ordering a Boulevardier he leaned on the counter, scanning the room. Annoyed at his father's choices, he squinted in the darkness, hoping to find the boy before his face evaded Logan's memory.

"Lady leave you, did she?" A low voice sounded beside him, making him turn around. Logan smirked, Hart forgotten. The man standing before him was none other than Shea's nephew, intended for Roman. He wore a muted purple suit, if such a colour could ever exist, dark brown hair swept over his forehead. 

"And what makes you think that, good sir?" He asked, drink left standing on the countertop. 

"Ah, just a speculation. You do seem rather weary. Have you finally come to the realisation that one day, our riches will abandon us forever - leaving us all thirsting for water not required?" He stood up taller, towering a good few inches above Logan, eyes darker than velvet. 

Logan shifted, mind at ease. "Are you yourself not here, drinking water not required?" Shea considered him again, smiling with his eyes and not his mouth. 

"I suppose I am, do we all not do so?" Logan inclined his head, readily having the man have his way. "Do come outside with me, it's terribly stuffy in here." Logan picked up his glass, gesturing for him to follow. He could hear someone (it was Anthony Jones wasn't it? Oh, it was always Anthony Jones!) calling out his name, but he chose to ignore them, too engrossed in the mysterious man before him. 

"Well, sir, here we are, out of the stuffy indoors." Logan commented, watching as Shea's eyes roved the garden with utmost interest. He stooped to look at a weed growing amongst the peachiest of roses. "Ah, does the weed bother you?"

Shea turned his head, eyes wide with passion. "On the contrary!" He exclaimed, tenderly running a finger over it. "Is it not beautiful?" Logan bent over beside Virgil, getting a closer look. 

"I'm afraid all I see is a pest: a weed. It doesn't belong there." 

Shea's chest heaved, shoulders heaving. "How can you declare so?" He cried. "Does it not have a right to grow there? Is it not brave, growing amongst flowers unrivalled? How can you be so heartless?" Logan bent over once again, staring the ugly little sapling in the face. He couldn't pretend to understand what he was raving about, but there was something about him, something that made Logan _want_ to understand. 

"I suppose it is admirable." He conceded as Shea sighed. 

"You only say so to placate me -"

"Of course not! I must admit that I still think it unneeded, but perhaps it is wanted nonetheless?" He couldn't understand his own emotions, overcome with a burning desire to conciliate, to please him. "You can not expect me to change my views so fast!" He pleaded, desperate to not lose this newfound correspondence he developed. 

"I suppose not. Say, what is your name? Mine's Virgil Shea." Logan shook his outstretched hand, smiling.

"Logan Croft." Virgil Shea withdrew his hand as if he had been burned, cheeks flushing furiously. 

"Oh my! I had no idea, excuse me for my brashness!" He moved back, head bowed. "I had been expecting to meet you, I suppose you already knew of me?" 

"I did. I apologise if that makes you -" 

He cut Logan off, hands waving. "Oh no, quite the contrary, my apologies for pestering you so!" He blushed even more so, hands wringing. Logan shook his head, content to watch the sky. The silence was now tension filled, writhing like a can of worms. Logan sighed, disappointed in the reaction he had received. In the few moments he had spent with Virgil unnamed, he felt complete, he could see himself living with this man forever - now that dream was gone, shattered. 

"Mr. Croft -" 

"Please, call me Logan." Heart heavier than a stone, he hoped he wouldn't have to repeat the conversation he had with Hart. "I consider you one of my friends now." 

"Logan, then (and I insist you call me Virgil, though I presume you would), you forgive me for my words, do you not?" 

"No, I do not, Virgil." Virgil winced as Logan held up a hand. "Let me finish, won't you? I do not forgive you for there is nothing to apologise for! Should I apologise to you for my words?"

"No, no, of course not!" 

"Then I see no reason why you should. I must confess, however, that I wish you hadn't come today." 

Virgil winced again, shoulders hitching up. "You wound me greatly, Logan. You call me your friend and then you wish I hadn't met you!" 

"You will leave me heartbroken, I am sure of it. Just now, you have broken a fragment off. How ever can I go back to my life knowing that I found and lost a great man in a heartbeat?" 

"Logan Croft, you make no sense!" 

"I do, Virgil, I do. You have become more subdued after knowing my name, you must understand that it simply isn't fair to me. Where will I find a man of your intelligence, of your wit? It is lost in you already. _You_ wound _me_ greatly."

"Oh Logan, don't say so! If it's truly what you want, then I shall speak my mind."

"Please do, dear Virgil." Logan watched as Virgil drew up to his height again, the creases in his suit smoothing out. He turned to Logan and Logan was once again taken away by the admiration he suddenly possessed, content to sit and watch him. 

"I know why your father wanted you to meet me. He looks for someone equal to you, to your wealth and riches. Is Patton Hart not one of them? Is Nick Conner not one of them? Look again at the occupants of your gathering, you will find that everyone here has come with their heirs and their pearls. I come alone, and unmatched. I have no diamonds to give and no riches to my name. My uncle, Patrick Shea, is confined to his bed, and whilst he is alive I have his money to my name - but once he is lost to us... I will be poorer than the lady with the bowl across the street! He plans on leaving nothing to me, not a single penny!" 

"How cruel!"

Virgil shook his head, eyes distant. "It is fair and just. It is his money, is it not? Why should he ever spend it on his late brother's bastard child? He does nonetheless. He may not be leaving me with any money, but I do have my own skills that I have acquired through him. I can not resent him, I simply can not. Which is why I am here, invited on grounds that are false. Should I be married, it must be soon, before my uncle leaves me dime-less. I am no debutant, I am but a false suitor; bringing nothing but the false pretences of my lineage." 

"How much time do you have to get married?" 

"A little less than a year. We should get back inside, I can hear your brother looking for you." Virgil abruptly turned, striding inside. Logan followed hastily, sparing a glance at the weed, suddenly thinking it beautiful. He could hear Roman calling him, making Logan startle. He hurried over to his brother, who promptly pulled him up the staircase. 

"Logan, who on Earth were you talking to? That Virgil boy is nothing but trouble, I'm sure of it! He must be some sort of rumrunner!" 

"Roman! I will not have you slander his name like that. Virgil has done nothing of the sort!"

"Princeton boys are trouble Logan, I tell you, so suit yourself. I heard that his uncle was bedridden?"

"He is." Logan answered stiffly, not wanting to continue this subject of discussion. "How was Hart?"

"Patton? Oh my, Logan, he is sickly sweet. Does he not remind you of those girls we met last summer?"

"He does indeed. Do you like him?" 

"I suppose. Is that why Father asked us to talk to them?" 

"Roman, I haven't been honest with you. Father wished for you to meet Virgil Shea, not Patton. I just couldn't stand Hart." 

Roman considered that, frowning in the direction of Virgil. "No, no, Logan. You wish to dance with the devil, so be it! Have you -" 

The orchestra was suddenly overpowered by conversations all around them, whispers rising to a higher volume. Every group bowed their heads together, muttering in the same tone. The pleasant chatter was broken up, now suspicious and low, wanting to hear and not be heard. Roman immediately climbed down the staircase, asking the nearest servant what the matter was. Logan followed him unwillingly, not wanting to be seen alone. 

"... it looks like the Croft boy is here!" He heard someone whisper. Logan looked at Roman who had the waiter whispering furiously in his ear, face ashen. He strode over, wary of the eyes that followed him so. 

"I thought he was well dead!" 

"No, no, you have it all wrong! I knew of him at the house down the port, were you not there?" 

Realisation struck Logan as he scanned the room once again, cursing his father's flaws. He caught view of Remus standing by someone's car. A man around his age opened the door for him and he slid in, smiling sweetly before laughing, a roaring thunderous boom. The man sat in, gesturing to the chauffeur. Logan crossed the room, but the car was already gone, whispers dying out. He caught his Father's eye and turned away. Desperate to get rid of the events that just occurred, he found himself seeking Virgil, who was leaning against the bar yet again. 

"Your brother made quite the impression." Virgil commented as Logan shook his head. 

"Father restrained him falsely. He isn't as the rumours of him say, quite harsh and blunt but not deranged." 

"I see. Do you know who he got in the car with?" Virgil had a satisfied look on his face and Logan suspected that Virgil knew the answer.

"Do tell."

"Janus C. Dane. I can also tell you that not only will they get along fantastically, they may get married. Which I know will upset and anger Mr. Croft (your father, you see) the most."

"Why so?"

"Janus C. Dane is not a wealthy man. His father used to be rich, but was recently apprehended. We used to go to Princeton together. Take it from me, one way or another, Janus will whisk your brother away for good. Whether Mr. Croft (your father) approves of it or not."

"You seem to know quite a bit about this man."

"We went to Princeton together, I told you so." Virgil smiled at him, cautious and curious. 

"Logan!" His father roared, stepping into their circle. "There you are! Ah, Mr. Shea."

"Please, it's Virgil. Mr. Shea is my uncle." Thomas laughed, just like Remus' laugh except toned down. Virgil smiled at Thomas, a charming and dazzling smile. Logan realised that Virgil Shea was quite the actor, putting on such a good show. He was leaning back, casual and suave. He seemed to look like he enjoyed the party, but Logan knew otherwise. 

"Well, Virgil, you simply must come to lunch to-morrow! You'll be there, won't you?" 

"Of course, Mr. Croft." He bowed slightly and Logan could tell that his father was pleased. He nodded once, turning to Logan. Logan regarded him coldly, not fond of him anymore. Thomas opened his mouth before promptly leaving, engaging in conversation with Patton and Roman. Logan looked at Virgil, drinking him in. He intrigued Logan, Logan had never wanted to please someone in his life before. Yet here he was, willing to agree to anything and everything Shea asked of him. 

"Logan, do you mind me coming to lunch?" Virgil asked him, eyes glittering with a question unasked. 

"I would be depressed if you didn't, Virgil." Some how, he knew he would be.

Virgil smiled at him, tucking his hands in the pockets of his suit. "I wouldn't want that." 

That night, the Croft house's unusual display of energy and liveliness vanished by 11.30 sharp. Thomas Croft stood in his empty living room, hands clasped behind his back as he watched cleaners pour in and out, sorting everything out. Roman Croft was off somewhere, gone to a theatre show with some friends. Logan Croft was sent out to find Remus and to possibly find the man who whisked him away. Unbeknownst to Thomas, Remus had intercepted Logan at the dock nearby. Remus convinced his brother to join him for a drink, just a quick one. Lights were untangled and removed, food was scraped and thrown away, floors were mopped - by the next morning, the house had been as morose as ever. Most passers-by would wholeheartedly claim that there had no party yesterday, no signs of life in the house.

**Author's Note:**

> lmk if you see a typo!  
> hope you like it ❤️💕


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